


The Only Woman I Ever Loved Was Another Man's Wife

by Largishcat



Series: fuck it [2]
Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Angst, Discussion of Infidelity, Frottage, Laura Gets Called Out, M/M, Mentally Ill Character, Outdoor Sex, Porn with way too much plot, Sexist Language, Shadow Is Very Sad, Swearing, Unsafe Sex, discussion of suicide, slight canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 23:36:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11241615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Largishcat/pseuds/Largishcat
Summary: "Who was it?" Laura asks."No one you know." Shadow exhales, tucking the phone between his chin and shoulder. "Babe, you're not going to believe this, but it was a fucking leprechaun."Shadow has a series of unproductive conversations, and some more inadvisable sex.





	The Only Woman I Ever Loved Was Another Man's Wife

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here! The sequel to [If you can't eat it, drink it, smoke it, or snort it](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10986084). You should probably read that one first.
> 
> Mild canon AU. Shadow's meeting with Laura goes a little bit more like it did in the book--she leaves afterwards, and is gone by the time Sweeney barges in. Shadow and Wednesday don't get arrested until later. BASICALLY THERE ARE JUST SOME INTERLUDES ADDED SO SHADOW AND MAD SWEENEY CAN SCREW. Set sometime before A Murder of Gods.
> 
> Come freak out about the final with me on [tumblr](https://largishcat.tumblr.com).

They're on Interstate 55, hugging the border of Missouri, and there's nothing on the radio but static, interspersed with snatches of top 40 hits. Shadow keeps his hands at ten and two, eyes on the  mostly  empty highway. Beside him, Wednesday reclines in the passenger seat with his hat over his face.  He'll give Shadow grief for using a main road when he wakes up, but, for now, Shadow can savor the feeling of driving like a normal person. In a straight line, instead of the elaborate corkscrews they usually travel in.

Looming on his left side is a behemothic white sign that reads "ACCEPT GOD" in letters as tall as Shadow. He glares at it. Wednesday would have something clever to say about it, but the old man sleeps on. For once, silent.

Shadow's head is buzzing along with the radio. Too many thoughts all trying to get to the surface at once. There is so much weird bullshit, and it  just  keeps piling up and up and no one will explain any of it to him.

And he's not dumb, is the thing, he knows what conclusion all these freakish assholes want him to draw. But--he's not ready to accept _that_.

He couldn't justify it to himself, if he wanted to; why he's okay with believing his wife has come back from the grave, but not that there are actual _deities_ living among mortals. That's a step past where he's willing to go.

Maybe, he thinks, cruising over into the left lane, it's because Laura not being gone is something he wants to believe. Hadn't that been what he'd been hoping when he visited their house? That she'd be there waiting for him. Surprised and happy to see him there days early.  That they would laugh together over the crazy mistake the prison, or the newspapers, or _someone_ had made. They'd make love right there on the living room carpet. Then they'd call Audrey and Robbie and they'd all go out and get wasted. Laughing and drinking until the morning.  Robbie would get drunk after three beers and start monologuing about his latest fitness obsession, and Laura and Shadow would catch each other's eyes. Share an eye roll.

Shadow's hands clench on the wheel. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. It feels like a rock wrapped in razor-wire. Grief and anger. Constant fucking companions.

He's so fucking _angry_ at Laura.  For dying, for not loving him enough not to fuck his best friend, for coming back and acting like that should have made everything okay. He wants to yell. He wants to cry. He wants,  desperately , to hold her and feel her heart beating. He wants to kiss her and have her lips be warm. He wants to go back in time and punch himself in the face for going along with her stupid plan to rob the casino. He wants to shout at her until she finally _admits_ she fucked up. He wants her to swallow her fucking pride enough to say please, to apologize and mean it.

He also wants to stop getting beat up, threatened, stabbed, lynched, insulted, and recruited by weird fuckers who talk like bad TV scripts. He wants to sleep for a few days. And have his life be normal again when he wakes up.

Shit, Laura, though. How fucked up is that whole thing? What is he even going to say to her next time he sees her. If he ever sees her again, and she hadn't been some kind of  fantastically  realistic illusion. He'd have to tell her he had sex with someone else. He can't not tell her, even if that's what she would do. He has hickies all along his collarbones, carpet rash on his back, and finger-bruises on his hips. He has no idea how she'd react.  Probably  not well.

Next to him, Wednesday snorts and sits up, letting his hat slip into his lap.

"Where are we?" he asks Shadow.

"About ten miles out," Shadow says. "Couple more exits. We'll be there soon."

"Hmm," Wednesday says, squinting at a passing exit sign. He doesn't say anything about Shadow not taking the back roads.

"What's in this town, anyway? Another one of your friends?" Shadow asks, not expecting a straight answer, but glad of having an excuse to talk instead of think.

"Some errands that need running," Wednesday says  crisply, "which I will be  perfectly  capable of taking care of myself.  Congratulations, Shadow," he aims a little smile in Shadow's direction, "you've got yourself a day off."

Time alone with his thoughts is the last thing Shadow wants. "You sure you couldn't use some help?" Shadow says, trying to sound casual and uninterested instead of desperate. "Might get things done quicker."

"Oh, no, my boy. Much as I appreciate the offer, there is no need. Besides," Wednesday waves his hand, "you've more than earned a bit of down-time. Rest that _side_. It'll be good for you."

_No, it won't_ , Shadow thinks.

The town, when they get there, turns out to be one of those nondescript,  sightly  run down towns you find all across the Midwest. There are potholes on the main street, which Shadow drives  carefully  around. Wednesday tells Shadow to enjoy himself, and fucks off to who knows where. Shadow finds a parking spot. Discovers that the meter  is broken, and decides to take that as a spot of good luck.

He wanders  aimlessly  down Main Street, staring into the shop fronts. He considers going into a diner and getting an early lunch, but the idea of food doesn't seem appealing.

He picks a store at random and walks inside, the bell tinkling. It looks like a cross between a thrift shop, antique store, and pawn shop, and smells like old leather. The middle-aged woman behind the counter looks up and him and gives him a tired smile.

"I'm  just  browsing," Shadow tells her, smiling back. She nods, and goes back to scrolling through her phone.

The store isn't wide, but is  surprisingly  deep. Shadow wanders into the back, far enough that he can't see the front desk anymore. There is no one else in the store.

Against one of the walls, there's a shelf full of old-fashioned televisions. The fat ones.  Most of them are off, but one  is turned  to what looks like some music channel, playing old music videos, so quiet Shadow can has to strain to hear the upbeat pop.

On the other wall, there are a bunch of old biker jackets. This must be where the leather smell is coming from. Shadow goes to look, running his fingers over soft cow skin, spikes, and studs.

"Hey," says a high voice behind him, and a sick, cold feeling slides down Shadow's spine.  _Fuck_ , he thinks, _please be the lady from the front counter coming over to make sure I'm not stealing shit._ Why did he turn his back to the damn TVs.

He turns around, and sure e-fucking-nough, there's pig-tailed, school girl-uniformed Britney Spears smiling right at him.

"No," he tells her.

"Oh, come on, Shadow," Britney-Lucy-Marylin says, her voice lilting up at the end in the kind of valley-girl whine no one's actually had for a decade.

"I _don't_ want to talk to you."

"Just  give me a minute, come on," she says. "Sixty seconds, and if you don't like what I say, you can walk away and I won't try to stop you. No consequences, no strings, I promise. Pinky swear." She holds up one hand, one painted finger extended.

Shadow crosses his arms, waiting. He  really    _doesn't_ want to talk to her. But, so far, she seems like the least insane of Wednesday's little posse of enemies. She hasn't stabbed him or hung him from a tree. Yet.

"Thank you," she says when she sees he's not leaving, putting down her hand. "Well first, I guess I want to apologize again. My colleagues can't seem to stop fucking up when it comes to you." She nods at his side. "Mr. Wood. He gets a little over-enthusiastic."

Shadow snorts. "Is that what you call it. What about the kid? Was he  just  'overenthusiastic' too?"

Britney-Lucy presses her glossy lips together in an unhappy line. "I understand if you felt like his apology wasn't enough. He's not a bad kid, not  really, but he's young, and he can cause more trouble than he means to. I assure you, most of my colleagues have a better grasp of propriety. _Way_ less rude."

“Less Ku Klux style racist, you mean?” Shadow challenges her.

She shrugs one shoulder, the collar of her shirt sliding down to expose tanned skin. “He thinks he’s being ironic.”

“Why do you put up with him, if he’s such a liability?”

“Hmm,” Britney smacks her lips, “you know what, Shadow? As a gesture of good will, why don't I tell you the truth.

“The truth is, well, I need him. This,” she gestures around at the sides of her screen, “was a dying medium. TV’s out, streaming services are in. No one wants to sit down at an appointed _time_ every week to catch their shows, or their news. They want to _binge_ , they want it on the go, 24/7. And thanks to the Technical Boy,” she smiles, “they get what they want.  Netflix, HBO subscriptions, _Youtube_ , internet piracy, apps, whole websites dedicated to overanalyzing every episode of the latest hit show—thanks to him, I’m reaching more people than ever before.

“Like,” she says  slowly, drawing the word out, “that’s the difference between _us_ and Wednesday and his friends. We _adapt_. The Technical Boy could have been my replacement, but instead we have a partnership. He gives me the viewers, I give his little army of  socially  stunted nerds stuff to talk about.”

"That's not a very nice way to talk about your partner."

" _Junior_ partner, Shadow, junior partner. He still needs someone to reign him in, you know?"

"Mmm," Shadow says, skeptical.  "Look, I-Love-Lucy, so far you're the only one of--of whatever the fuck you people are who's been anything but a complete asshole to me. And you're still fucking creepy. So, you'll forgive me if I don't take you at your word when you tell me most of you are okay folks."

"Well, I can't force you to believe me," Britney says. "But  really, Shadow, we're not so bad. We don't want to fight you."

"Okay," Shadow says, "but your 'junior partner' still hung me from a tree."

"He's young!" Britney says, throwing up her hands. "I mean, he's not that young anymore, but he's still younger than me. You know?"

Britney shrugs both her shoulders in a way that makes her breasts press together. Up and out. "He still believes his own hype. All that meritocracy, let-the-cream-rise-to-the-top crap. Success equals virtue, you know? It's very Calvinistic. Very stars and stripes, true blue American."

Shadow rolls his eyes.

"Right? Ridiculous," Britney agrees, leaning forward, looking  intently  into Shadow's eyes. "We both know that's not how that works.  I've seen, like, so many people who would have been _stars_ \--my priests and priestesses--who  just  didn't have the connections, didn't have the "look". Weren't quite skinny or white or male enough. So much talent,  just  lost to the void.

"I mean, sacrificing your dreams to me is definitely another kind of worship.  She," she gestures down at herself, encompassing everything from the pigtails to the plaid skirt, "sure did. Sacrificed her childhood, her sanity, her dignity. Not her life, though." Britney licked her lips. "Too bad. Was never willing to sacrifice her children to me either. Weird, right? So many people are."

"I guess?" Shadow says.  There's a feeling he gets sometimes when Wednesday talks, that he's not speaking so much to Shadow as he is reciting a well-memorized soliloquy to an invisible audience  . He gets the same feeling from Lucy-Britney. She talks like her words will  be canonized  and studied by religious scholars. Like she's reciting  carefully  workshopped dialogue.

They all do that, these weird, weird people he's found himself falling in with. Every little comment turns into a sermon on the mount.

"Yeah," Britney says. "Anyway, I  just  wanted you to know that no matter what your boss decides to do, there's always a place with us for you." She smiles at him. Shiny, spearmint-white Britney smile. "It's not true what he said, by the way. We  totally  give people meaning.  Haven't you ever heard someone say--" for a moment, it's as if she'd speaking with a hundred-thousand voices all at once, overlapping each other. Dissonant and horrible.

"--This show--"

"--This movie--"

"--This musician--"

"--This actor--"

"--saved my life?" She blinks at him, sweet as high-fructose corn syrup.

"It's still different," Shadow says, shaken to his core, and defending Wednesday out of some indefinable instinct. "It's cold, impersonal. You're _corporate_. There's no real connection,  just  the illusion of it."

She spreads her hands, conceding the point. " Maybe  so, Shadow. But what does reality matter, when there's _belief_?" And with that, the television pops off, and she's gone.

On a  really  good line.

Shadow walks out of the store as fast as he can. He goes back to the car, and sits in silence. That night, at the motel, he throws the comforter over the TV, and sleeps under the sheets.

 

 -------------------------------------

 

The next town looks like the last one. All small towns in America look the same.

Wednesday has left Shadow to his own devices again.  Firmly  telling him that while he appreciated Shadow's wanting to be helpful, his _enthusiasm_ for his bodyguarding duties, he  really  could handle this one  perfectly  well on his own, thank you for your concern  . And why didn't Shadow spend some time enjoying the  absolutely _lovely_ weather. You  just  didn't get weather like this in the city.  Or, rather, you _did_ , but you couldn't _appreciate_ it with all those tall buildings blocking that _robust_ country breeze.

Shadow hadn't pressed, not wanting to look desperate. He hasn't told Wednesday that Lucy spoke to him again, although he's not  entirely  sure why. He's not considering her offer in any real way. Still. He doesn't want to talk to Wednesday about it. Not yet.

A tiny, petty, part of Shadow  is pleased  to be keeping a secret, when the old man keeps so many from him.

Shadow avoids the pawn shop, the deli, and the Walgreens. Any place that might have one of those security cameras with the TVs visible to customers.

He ends up going to a little corner cafe and getting a cup of coffee and a chocolate croissant that they stick in a toaster oven for him for a couple minutes to make the chocolate all melty. It's okay. He eats it as he wanders down the quiet streets.

It's quiet.  It would be nice, if Shadow could shake the crawling feeling of paranoia that's making the back of his neck prickle .

Shadow catches sight of himself in a shop window. He looks hunted, and tired. The cuts on his face  are scabbed  over, but they're still too obvious, too attention catching.

Just  under the line of his collar, he knows, is the lingering impression of teeth.

He decides to walk towards the park. It's cold enough that it's likely to  be deserted, and he toys with the idea of sitting on a park bench for a while.

He's meandering in that direction when someone's phone begins ringing near him. They've got a vintage ringtone--that classic brring-brring. It even sounds a bit tinny.

The sound fades as Shadow walks on, but it goes on for long enough that he glances back,  absently.  Maybe  someone had dropped their phone and would want it back.

There's no sign of a lost cell phone on the ground. There are no other pedestrians, either.

Shadow stops in his tracks. Stock still as he scans the street, which seems  all of  a sudden threatening.  His eye catches on an old payphone tucked into the corner of a building, and he knows, _knows_ , even before the next ring cuts through the air.

Fuck.

He knows who it goddamn is, too.

Shadow thinks  seriously  about walking back to the car and sitting in there until Wednesday's done with whatever he's doing. The fucking radio would  probably  start talking to him. He stomps to the payphone and snatches up the receiver with prejudice.

“That better not be fucking you, Lucy,” he snaps.

“Puppy?” comes the familiar voice. Shadow's shoulders slump. It's not relief.  It's realizing you had been spending all your time worrying about one thing, and had completely forgotten about all the other things you had to worry about.

“Laura?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Who’s Lucy?”

“Some creepy bitch who keeps talking to me through televisions,” Shadow says, leaning his forehead against the metal of the payphone, deflating.  Hearing Laura’s voice in the light of day is different, somehow, from seeing her  just  after midnight in a dim motel room. Shadow wishes the payphone cord was long enough for him to go sit down on the curb.

"Huh, weird."

There's an awkward silence. "Why are you calling?" Shadow asks,  eventually. " _How_ are you calling?"

"I know a guy," Laura says. "And can't I  just  want to check up on my husband?"

"Really?" Shadow asks. He almost laughs, it's so absurd. Everything is.

"Yes,  really. You disappeared, then you and that old guy drove off without me. What happened? What's going on?"

He wishes he knew. "Got arrested. Got busted out. Got stabbed by some kind of tree monster?" He pauses. "Look, Laura, I'm still  really  mad at you."

"I know, I know, I know, I know you are," she says. "And you know what? That's fine. Sometimes people argue, and they work through it, and it's fine." A pause. "That sucks about the tree monster."

Shadow closes his eyes, pressing his forehead harder into the cold metal of the phone, until it almost hurts. The miserable ache in his chest that he's been trying to ignore for the past few days is building again. He's not sure if he wants to cry, or yell, or hang up and walk away and try to never think about this again.

Only, he knows its not the last one. Even with everything, it's good to hear Laura's voice.  Maybe  it makes him weak, or stupid, but he wants to keep hearing it. He had told her that he wasn't her puppy anymore, and he meant it. He still does. But in this moment he can't bring himself to hang up.

"Why did you call?" He asks again.

Laura is silent for a long moment. "I wanted to. And I had a feeling I should," she says. "Dead person intuition, I don't know."

"Okay."

"What else happened?" Laura asks, and Shadow's heart sinks. "Apart from the getting arrested and stabbed and stalked by television people, I mean."

"I slept with someone," Shadow admits. He tenses, but when Laura replies, she doesn't sound angry.

"Who was it?" Laura asks, neutral. She's being careful, Shadow thinks, she's being careful with him.

"No one you know." Shadow exhales, tucking the phone between his chin and shoulder. "Babe, you're not going to believe this, but it was a fucking leprechaun."

"Really?" She snorts, the sound so familiar it makes Shadow ache. "How did that work? Quite a height difference, I'd think."

"This one was tall," Shadow says, settling into the warm, familiar comfort of their conversations. "He's taller than me, if you believe it." Pause. "He's a fucking asshole."

"Are you going to have sex with him again?"

"I don't know."

There's a long silence before Laura speaks again. Once again, Shadow is aware of how  carefully  she's choosing her words. How wrong-footed she'd been when he'd pushed her away at the motel. Still was. "Did you... In prison, did you ever? I mean, I guess I can't be mad if you did, after me and Robbie, but I hope you didn't."

"I didn't," Shadow tells her. "This was the first time since they locked me up."

"Okay," Laura says. "That's fair. I guess we're even now."

"No?" Shadow says, incredulous. "We're not?"

"Yes, we are," Laura says,  brittlely  chipper.

"I had a drunken one-night-stand with some guy I don't even like. You had a--a--" He struggles for the words. "Fucking _love affair_. For almost two years."

"I never loved Robbie," Laura says, like that somehow makes it better.

_Did you ever love me?_ Shadow doesn't ask. He doesn't want to know.

"Look, Laura, I don't--I don't know how to fucking process any of this. Everything that's happened has been like some kind of acid-soaked _nightmare_. I mean, it's been a little over a week since I found out you _died_."

"But I'm not dead."

"You are, babe."

" _Okay_ ," Laura says, "I am. But I could not be."

Shadow licks his lips. Inhales, exhales. Does not let his brain latch onto the sudden flash of completely irrational hope. "What?"

"I think  there's a way, Shadow. I don't know what it is, but  I think  you can help me. You might be the only one who can."

“Why do you think that?”

“Just  a feeling,” Laura says. “I mean that  literally  . When I touched you—at the motel. That was the first thing I _felt_ since I, uh, rose? Rose from the grave.”

“Laura, I don’t know how to help you,” he tries to tell her, but she keeps talking, like she doesn't have complete control over her own tongue, the words spilling out of her.  Shadow half-remembers something from a fantasy book he had read a long time ago, about the dead being unable to lie. Was that true?

“You know, I never  really  liked being alive when I was? I hated it. It was so boring all the time. You know I tried to kill myself? That was before I met you, but I  probably  would have tried again,  eventually.  I mean, I used to like, run this scenario in my head, where you'd find out about Robbie, and you'd leave me, and then I'd finally  just  _do it_. I used to spend hours thinking about my own funeral. How Robbie would cry, and you'd get into a fistfight with him on my grave.  Then you and Audrey would bang, and she'd divorce Robbie, and you guys wouldn't date or anything, but you'd stay friends. Even after you both moved out of Eagle Point and married other people. Robbie would  probably  end up a sad and alone. Maybe he'd become an alcoholic.

"But, anyway, now that I’m dead, all I want is to be alive again. Weird, right? How that turns out?”

"Laura..."

"Anyway, how did you meet this guy? The one you fucked?"

" _Laura_."

"Wha-at," she drawls, "come on, puppy, I want to know."

Shadow sighs, doesn't tell her not to call him puppy. "We got into a bar fight."

" _Really_ _?_ "

"Yeah," he huffs to himself, "and that's the least fucking weird thing to happen to me lately. He's the one I got the coin from, actually. The one I put on your grave."

" _Him?_ " Laura says. Shadow blinks.

"Yes?" He says, confused.

"I met him."

"What? _When?_ "

"Like a day after I saw you?  Maybe  longer? Time's weird. You're right, though, he is an asshole."

"What happened?" Shadow asks, scrubbing his hand over his face. His stubble rasped over his palm.

"He wanted his coin back. He was  really  fucking rude about it. I told him he couldn't have it. He called me a cunt. I kicked his ass."

"He called me a cunt, too," Shadow tells her. He can't help but smile.

"And you _slept_ with him?" Laura laughs. "You've got  really  bad taste, puppy."

"Yeah," Shadow says, the smile slipping from his face, "I guess I do."

Laura is silent for a long time, and Shadow is sure she heard the accusation under his words.

"I'm going to go now, Laura," he tells her.

"Okay," she says, "we're going to talk again soon. Get a new phone, okay?"

"Okay."

"I love you."

Shadow hangs up.

 

\-------------------------------------

 

It's a Thursday afternoon, and they're in one of the biggest shopping malls Shadow's ever seen.

"Ninth biggest in  all of  America," Wednesday tells him, shooting a sleazy smile at a girl manning a sunglasses kiosk. She blushes and looks down. Shadow rolls his eyes. "Not the holiest, not the least holy. Like a satellite temple. The real Mall of America, though, in Minnesota, now _that's_ a holy site."

"Mmm," Shadow says.

"There are many things Americans worship," Wednesday says, unperturbed by Shadow's lack of enthusiasm, waving around at the bustling mall, and the  brightly  colored store fronts, "fashion trends, historical figures, celebrities, certain types of _food_. But if there's one thing Americans  truly _believe_ in, it's this." He spreads his arms, presenting the Tyson's Corner Center Mall to Shadow like a gift.

Shadow glances around, taking in the shoppers laden with bags,  determinedly  perky sales people offering samples to anyone who will stop. Everything in sight carrying a brand name. "Consumerism?"

"Why, yes," Wednesday says, pleased, "and no--more complicated than that. Or simpler. It all depends on your perspective. But yes, my boy, that's a very good guess. Consumerism. _Cap_ italism. And the root cause of all ills: good old-fashioned paper money."

He declares they are going to get lunch before they get to the day's errand, and they stop in a Shake Shack.  Wednesday continues to expound on the nature of commercialism, the increasing franchisation of America, something, something.

Shadow stops paying attention, and concentrates on his food. Wednesday can carry on a conversation perfectly well by himself without any input from Shadow.  So when Wednesday  carefully  sets down his fork, folds his hands in front of him on the table, and addresses Shadow  directly, he's caught by surprise.

"You're playing a dangerous game, my boy," Wednesday says, "balancing wives and lovers."

It takes Shadow a moment to digest the shift in topic. Then he's annoyed.

"I don't want to talk about this, come on," Shadow says, tossing his burger back on the plate.

"I am  just  saying." Wednesday raises his hands, placating. "  I feel  it is my duty to tell you I've _been_ there, and it rarely turns out well."

"I said I _don't_ want to talk about it," Shadow says. "He's not my lover," he says. "I told Laura. She knows," he says.

"Oh, yes?" Wednesday raises an eyebrow. "And what did she say?"

"She said it was--" Shadow, pauses. Laura hadn't said it was okay, exactly. She hadn't said it wasn't okay either. She had very  carefully  not given her opinion.  Which was such a foreign thing for Laura to do that Shadow hadn't  truly  registered it until the conversation was long over. "She didn't tell me to stop."

"Tacit approval," Wednesday nods, "if you're inclined to see it that way. But, she's not the only one you have to watch out for," he tells Shadow  cryptically. "This is why affairs are aways such bad business, you see. Too many moving parts, not enough _control_."

"It's not an _affair_ ," Shadow protests,  sulkily.

"Well, whatever it is, you're going to be facing the consequences for it sooner or later and, and  probably  sooner. So," Wednesday raises his cup of coffee to his lips, "get your shit together." 

 

\-------------------------------------

 

A day later and Shadow is sitting on a curb, staring into space.  He's decided the best way to avoid having any bullshit conversations with cryptic assholes is to go nowhere and do nothing. He doesn't think he could stand any more.  When every single person who's insisted on talking to him in the past week has been hell-bent on making him even more upset and confused than he'd been already.

They're the farthest south they've been on this weird, little road trip, and the breeze that blows over Shadow, ruffling the collar of his shirt, is warm. It's a beautiful day. The kind where he might have dragged Laura out for a picnic, a lifetime ago. He used to like that kind of thing.

Behind him, someone draws breath to speak, and Shadow is already closing his eyes in a wince when he hears Mad Sweeney's voice.

"Your wife's a right bitch."

"Don't start," Shadow says, turning. Sweeney looks awful. Like he'd picked a fight with a rabid possum, lost, and then stayed up drinking for three days straight. And hadn't washed his hair once in all that time.

Shadow  is irritated by  the pang of attraction that twists his stomach. It must be a symptom of his hind brain latching on to the first person to touch his dick in years. "What do you want?" he asks.

Sweeney shrugs  sullenly  and doesn't answer.

Shadow doesn't fill the silence, letting it stretch, long and awkward.

"Look, can you talk to your damn, dead wife?" Sweeney says finally, fidgeting like a junkie coming off of something. "About my coin," he clarifies.  "Tried to have a nice, civil, _reasonable_ conversation with her like a fucking adult, and she damn near put me through a damn wall. She'll listen to you. Bet she'd reach down her own gullet and pull it out if you asked her."

Shadow laughs, bitter. "You don't know her very well."

"Know she's fucking fixated on _you_ ," Sweeney says, "though heaven knows why. From what I hear, she never got what she needed from you in life."  Sweeney makes a vulgar, illustrative gesture and Shadow thinks very  seriously  about hitting him again. "Never could convince you to try the nasty, _weird_ shit she wanted, eh? Bet you always wanted to make sweet _love_ in front of the fireplace. Fucking _romantic_ like. When all she wanted was for you to shove your big hand up her--"

"My wife and me," Shadow interrupts, "had a great fucking sex life."

"Aye, sure you did."

"Fuck you, Sweeney."

"Ye have," Sweeney says, catching Shadow's eye and raising one bushy eyebrow.  Underneath the route antagonism, he looks tired and drawn, dark bruising under his eyes. His accent, usually nothing more than a confused hint, is more noticeable. Thick and slurring.

"Yeah, well," Shadow grumbles under his breath, "she was better at giving head than you."

"Whatever," Sweeney rolls his eyes. "And you're hardly some sweet, big-titted lass."

"I've got great tits," Shadow says, deadpan.

Sweeney laughs, startling them both. It cuts the tension. The silence, when they fall into it again, is almost comfortable.  Shadow sitting on the curb, staring into space, and Sweeney, leaning against a lamp post and chain-smoking.

"You were the first person I had sex with, since I went to prison. Three years," Shadow tells hims, possessed by some freakish, self-destructive impulse.

"Oh, aye?" Sweeney raises an eyebrow. "Don't they have those--what're they called. Conjugal visits?" he asks, cupping his hand to shield against the wind as he lights another cigarette.

"Not in the state of Indiana," Shadow says.

"Ah," Sweeney says,  contemplatively . "Aren't you a sorry fuck."

"Shut up."

Sweeney pushes off the lamp post, one long roll from his heels to his shoulders. Uncoiling. Shadow hears his spine crack.

"D'you want to have another go at it, then?" Sweeney asks. He stubs his cigarette out on his tongue with a hiss, and tucks the stub behind his ear. It's sexy, in a gross way. Which, if someone put a gun to his head, Shadow might admit is how he'd describe Sweeney in general.

Shadow stares at Sweeney for a long time, until he begins to fidget. It would be a terrible idea,  obviously. No matter how uncomfortable and _annoying_ Wednesday's prying had been, the old man had had a point. It would be only a matter of time until this thing with Sweeney--if it became a _thing_ \--backfired.

But Shadow couldn't bring himself to care about the future. With the number of people trying to kill him these days, who knew if he'd even live to see next week. Let alone long enough for these particular birds to come home to roost.

_Was_ this cheating? How was it not? Death hadn't parted him from Laura quite the way it  was supposed  to.  But circumstances _had still_ parted them, and it's so fucking weird to think of Laura as someone who might not have a say in his sex life anymore. Might not have a right to it anymore. Didn't.

Wednesday would  probably  be angry with Shadow for wandering off to go do exactly what he'd warned Shadow against, but fuck Wednesday.  Fuck Wednesday with his blasé attitude towards all this weird _shit_ , and his complete refusal to tell Shadow _anything_.

Mind made up, Shadow waits another few seconds  just  to be a dick. Until Sweeney starts to look nervous.

"Okay," he says, standing up and brushing off the legs of his jeans, "let's go." He walks to the car, fishing the keys out of his pocket. Behind him, he hears Sweeney curse under his breath and follow.

They drive past the boundaries of the little town, out into farmland.  Grassy pastures, dotted with cows--it looks like something you'd see on a cheap wall calendar. One called "American Heartland" or something kitschy like that.

Sweeney had rolled down his window, and the wind is ruffling his hair. Shadow remembers the strange way it had felt, between his fingers.

There's a dirt road--a tractor trail--turning off the road, and Shadow turns down it.  He's not sure why he decided to drive out here, instead of finding some greasy motel in town, but it felt right at the moment, and it still feels right.

A few miles down the dirt road, in the field, there's a small copse of trees breaking up the tall grass. Shadow thinks it looks like a good enough spot. He pulls over.

"You'd better not be intending to fuck me in this cramped fucking car, because I'll not do it," Sweeney says. He's pulled out sunglasses from somewhere, and slipped them on.

"There," Shadow points, and Sweeney follows his finger. He nods, looking pleased. He opens the door and slides his long legs out. Again, there's that look of unfurling as he stretches up to his full height. Like a fern frond uncurling, or one of those time-lapse videos of a tree growing. Shadow turns the engine off and follows.

It's a nice walk, and Shadow finds himself enjoying the sensation of walking on grass. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed nature. But now, surrounded by the scent of green and growing things, he feels a kind of calm.

Sweeney looks better too. Still filthy, scabbed, and bruised, but he looks at home in a way Shadow's never seen before. He looks like this is where he belongs. In a field somewhere, up to his ankles in clover.

There's a joke in there somewhere, but Shadow doesn't care enough to ponder it for long.

He grabs Sweeney by the wrist as they near the copse, and drags him into the shade of the trees. He pulls him close, leans up to kiss him.  Slower than last time, less  clumsy--probably  because they were both sober, no excuses for later there--but filthy, wet.  Sweeney still tastes of hand-rolled cigarettes and lingering booze, and Shadow  is dismayed  to find he likes it. Likes it too when Sweeney grabs his cock through his pants without an _ounce_ of finesse.

He lets Sweeney back him up against a tree, and moans into Sweeney's mouth when he gets both their cocks out, wrapped in one of his big hands.

Shadow tangles his fingers in Sweeney's hair, and thrusts up into his fist. The friction is almost too much. Too dry.

"Spit on your hand," he hisses into Sweeney's lips.  Then grunts, annoyed, when instead Sweeney shoves him back into the trunk of the tree, letting go of both their dicks.

But Sweeney is back up in his space before he can start swearing. "Down, down, down, _down_ ," Sweeney chants at him, roughly shoving on his shoulder. He follows Shadow down, straddling his lap. Long legs sprawled on either side of Shadow's hips.

Then Sweeney is licking his hand, is grabbing Shadow's hand, guiding it to encircle their cocks, wrapping his own hand around underneath. Slick and callus-rough. Shadow pants into Sweeney mouth, the air between them growing thick. Shadow moves his hand, pumping both their cocks, and Sweeney picks up the idea quick. They fall into a rhythm. Stroke and grind.

It occurs to Shadow that he's having sex in broad fucking daylight with another man on some farmer's property, and if Farmer Ben or whoever decides they want a nice walk, that's going to be a shotgun in Shadow's face.

He can't bring himself to care for long. It feels fucking fantastic.  Even the uncomfortable parts, like tree bark digging into Shadow's back, and the  slightly  too-cool breeze on bare skin. Like before, it feels good not to think. Not to _talk_.

Sweeney curses into his mouth--unintelligible,  possibly  not English--and Shadow swallows it down. Grins into the kiss. Rolls his hips, and strokes his free hand up the side of Sweeney's neck, tracing the shell of his ear.

If they do this again, Shadow thinks, he'd like to have enough time to take Sweeney apart. Find all the places that would make him twitch and curse and bluster to keep from begging. He wouldn't piss Shadow off so much if he was too fucked out to speak.

Sweeney tightens his grip, speeds up their rhythm, his breathing becoming harsher, almost ragged. Shadow matches him, feeling his balls tighten.

" _Cac,_ " Sweeney says, a short, harsh exclamation, and Shadow feels the first, hot pulses of his come.

The extra slick helps as Sweeney's hand falls away, and Shadow pumps his cock at a frantic pace. The tension crawls up the back of his neck, over his shoulders. Shadow curls in on himself as he comes, like an overwound spring.

Gradually, he relaxes. Leans back, letting the tree support him, and wipes his hand on the grass.

Sweeney rolls of him and sprawls on the wet ground. He doesn't move to fix his pants or push down his shirt where it had ridden up his stomach. His softening cock rests on his thigh. He throws an arm over his eyes to block out the sun.  Shadow watches him as his breath evens and deepens, feeling an odd kind of--not tenderness, but a sort of sleepy goodwill towards this frustrating, crazy fucker who's given him several bloody noses and now two toe-curling orgasms.

Shadow cleans himself up as best he can with only leaves and grass on hand, and zips his jeans. He doesn't move to stand, though.  There's a bird singing somewhere nearby, and the breeze it still  just  this side of too-cool, but he's enjoying it anyway. The air smells good and green.

"Hey, Shadow," Sweeney mumbles, not moving his arm off his face, "d'you believe'n me? When I tell you 'm a leprechaun, and pluck gold from the clear air, do you believe?"

Shadow blinks, not sure how to respond. Not so sure anymore that the answer is no.

"I don't know what you are, Mad Sweeney," he says  eventually , "but you're definitely something."

  

\-------------------------------------

 

Shadow buys himself a new phone two days later. He's not convinced it's a good idea, but he does it anyway. He spends the next sixteen hours jumpy and anxious enough that Wednesday gives him a weird look. They're finished with whatever errands they were running. Now they're heading somewhere with purpose.

At the end of the sixteen hours, he's alone, in yet another motel room.  The phone is on his bedside table, and he's trying to concentrate on a ratty copy of _Ulysses_ he'd picked up at a used book store a few towns back. He's been staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes, and when the phone rings it's almost a relief. When the thing you're dreading happens, you don't need to dread it anymore.

He answers the phone. "Laura?"

"Yep, it's me." There's a drier quality to her voice now, Shadow thinks, no more moister in her throat. Or  maybe  she sounds the way she always has and Shadow is  just  imagining it. "How are you?"

"I'm alright," Shadow says. Not a lie, per se.

"I think I might have another lead," she tells him, "about this whole coming back to life thing. It's not 100% if I can trust this guy, though, so I might still need you."

"I still don't--"

"No, it's fine," Laura interrupts, "I've got a good feeling about it. I've got something he needs, so it's either legit, or it's a trap. And I can deal with it if it's a trap, and if it's legit then that's good, right? It'll be fine."

She's babbling, a little. It's strange listening to her be nervous. Because of him. She hadn't even been nervous on their wedding day. Beautiful and blasé in her tulle dress, while he'd been jittering out of his skin. High off of anxiety and love.

"It's good talking to you, Shadow," she's saying, "it's  really  good. It was even good back then. You cheered me up. Always so happy to see me. Like a puppy. You even followed me home."

“I’m starting to think you never meant that in a nice way," Shadow says.

"I don't mean it in a _not_ nice way."

"Okay," Shadow sighs. "It's good to hear your voice too," he admits. It is.  Even with everything, he still misses her with a piercing ache, like he's walking around with a knife in his solar plexus. Like someone had stuck a shank in him, and he'd never pulled it out.

"Yeah." Shadow can hear her smile. It's something that happens when you know someone well, you can tell what their face is doing even if you can't see it. You learn to recognize the tonal shift between a grin and a frown.

And he does know her--even if he thinks half the time these days that he'd never known her at all. It's _Laura_. _His_ Laura. She'd taken his name and taken his hand and his cock and three _years_ of his freedom. He fucking knows her better than anyone.

"Did you sleep with that guy again?" Shadow blinks. Then slumps, letting himself fall backward onto the bed, his feet still on the floor. Trust Laura to ruin his private little moment, he thinks,  fondly.

"Yes?" he says, covering his eyes with his free hand. It doesn't occur to him that lying is an option until he's already said it.  Habits are hard to break, and he's spent years telling Laura every thought and feeling that flits through his head.

" _Really_ _?_ " Laura says. She sounds annoyed. "Come _on_ , Shadow."

" _What?_ " he says, mirroring her irritation. "I waited for _years_ , _I_ was faithful. And if you think I couldn't have had half that damn prison on their knees for me--"

"Yeah, yeah, you're hot shit, Shadow," Laura snaps. "Everyone wants to fuck you. I _know that_."

"Just\--" Shadow scrubs his hand down his face, letting it fall onto the comforter. "You're going to be jealous about this?  Really?"

"I know, I know, I know," Laura sighs. " _Fine_ , but only until I'm alive again. Then we're going to _talk_." She snorts. "Half the prison,  really?"

"Maybe  not half," Shadow admits. He smiles. "Probably  like three guys. My cellie might have gone for it, pretty sure he was dropping hints."

Laura laughs. "You're so fucking vain, Shadow." She's silent for a long moment. "I fucked this up. I wish I hadn't asked you to rob the casino, and I wish you hadn't gone to jail, and I wish I was still alive. It was fucking stupid."

"I thought your plan was perfect?"

"So did I!" Laura says. "It was. I fucking thought of everything. Every *little* fucking thing. I don't know what went wrong. I used to think it must have been you--that you'd done something stupid and fucked it up, but  I don't think  it was. A fucking perfect plan implemented  perfectly."

"So what happened?"

"Fucking _life_." Shadow hears rustling through the phone, then the click of what he thinks might be a lighter. When Laura speaks again, it's a little muffled, like she's got something in her mouth. "I made a mistake. I've made a lot of fucking mistakes."

"Was I a mistake?" Shadow asks, trying to sound casual and completely and  utterly  failing. "Marrying me. Was it--"

" _No_ ," Laura says immediately. "I  probably  meant you to be. I mean, why else would I take home some massive guy who accosted me after work. But you weren't like how I thought you'd be. You were sweet. And sexy, and kind of dorky and you gave  really  good head."

"What did you think I'd be like?" Shadow presses, stung.

"You know," Laura says, sounding embarrassed. "You were kind of mean-looking and I thought you'd be... mean. To me."

"Did you think I would _abuse_ you?" Shadow sits up, incredulous, angry and hurt.

"I misjudged you!" Laura's voice rises. Shadow could count on one hand the times he'd heard her sound this emotional.  "I was trying to get myself in trouble, and instead I ended up with you, and you were great, and I didn't have a _fucking_ idea what to do with you"

" _Shit_ , Laura," Shadow snaps, "how am I supposed to feel about that?"

"I don't know! Angry! That's how Audrey feels. She fucking hates me." Laura sighs  deeply, and Shadow can hear the air rattle as it passes through her. "You two were the most important people in my life, you know?"

"Then why did you  really  do it, Laura?  And don't give me that _bullshit_ line about the cat," Shadow says, finally asking the one question that's been eating at him more than how he could will the weather to change, or how he could be carrying the moon in his pocket, or even how he could be talking to Laura right now when she was _dead_. "I mean, that was the _one_ thing I asked you for. And you said you _would_. Was it  really  that fucking hard? And Audrey! You've known her since you were both fucking kids, Laura." The words come flowing out of him in a torrent of grief and hurt. "How could you do that to her? To me? And  maybe  you weren't happy.  Maybe  you were fucking miserable, Laura, but I loved you--Audrey loved you--and we would have fucking walked through fire to _help you_."

He's interrupted by a quiet sniffle on the other end of the phone. Stifled, like she didn't want him to hear.

"Laura?"

"No, no," Laura says, "I'm fine. It's fine."

"Just\--" Shadow struggles with the words. "I went to prison for you. I would have done anything for you. Wasn't that enough?"

"Shadow," Laura says, her voice steadying, "there was nothing in the world that would have been enough to fill the great, big, sucking _hole_ in me."

It is, Shadow thinks, the most honest thing she's ever said to him.

"Laura, don't," he says, "don't talk to me for a while. I can't help you become alive again, or whatever. And I need--space or fucking _something_."

"Shadow--"

"No, _listen_ ," Shadow says, curling in on himself, slumping over the phone, "babe, listen, please. For a little while, okay? Just--a little while. I need to think."

"That guy--"

"Yeah,  probably ," Shadow cuts her off, answering her question before she can ask it. "If I run into him again."

"Okay," Laura says,  obviously  biting back something. "Death parted us, I guess."

"Yeah."

"I'm coming _back_. Soon."

"I know. I'll see you then."

"Bye. I love you."

"I love you too," Shadow says, and hangs up.

Shadow feels... dissatisfied, restless. He wishes everything was different.

He wishes he had the balls to tell Laura to never talk to him again, or tell her to wait, actually _wait_ this time, he was coming to save her. Somehow.  He wishes he'd noticed how unhappy Laura was, or been less of an idiot and told her to go to _therapy_ instead of agreeing to rob the casino. He wishes Laura had bothered to tell him. Trusted him more. He wishes he'd trusted her less.

He wishes he'd never gone to prison.  Perversely, he wishes he'd found out about Laura's affair the normal way.  And that he was sleeping in a motel right now because he was furious and hurting and wondering if he should leave her. That she was filling his voicemail with  increasingly  desperate messages, and he was taking petty pleasure from ignoring every single one.

Maybe  he was texting Audrey, the two of them united in betrayal and confusion. And she was saying she'd kicked Robbie out, and Shadow could sleep on her couch if he wanted. And he was saying no, if Laura knew where he was, she'd show up, no question about it. That goddamn traitorous _bitch_ , Audrey would text, and Shadow wouldn't correct her.

Maybe  there'd be an awkward text on his phone from Robbie, saying that if Shadow wanted to have it out like men, he'd understand, and wouldn't even fight back too hard. He knew he deserved the bloody nose, but _dammit_ he was in love with Laura, and he couldn't change that. He wanted to be with her.

And Laura was calling again to tell him to ignore whatever dumb _fuck_ thing Robbie had said to him. She loved _Shadow_ , had never loved anyone but _Shadow_. Never even fucking _thought_ about leaving him. Robbie didn't mean shit to her, she _swears_.

Fantasy, Shadow had read somewhere, is a coping mechanism for dealing with things the human mind is not prepared or able to  fully  process. An attempt to coat reality's sharp edges in nacre until it was made  into something smooth enough to touch.

He wishes Sweeney were here  all of  a sudden. Out of all the strange fucking people he's met in the past month, Sweeney seems to want the least from him. Nothing complicated or  uncomfortably  existential. A fight, a fuck. His coin back. Simple.

It's  probably  not accurate to say Shadow misses him, but he does miss that. The one little island of straightforwardness in a sea of crazy bullshit.

It is a risky game, wives and lovers. On top of whatever risky game Wednesday is setting up the pieces for. Shadow wishes he wasn't playing either.


End file.
